A survivor's guide to teenage parenting involving rabbit feet, four leaf clovers and going to Church on Sunday.

Saturday, 5 June 2010

Economic Control of the Purse Strings

The ultimate power ~ the power of a credit card- a CD wanted, CD costs money, my money, a CD left wanted, a CD on a shelf. Respect is demanded by a simple "No". A car may be washed by a teenager. I may reward it or deem it part of a filial duty, especially with a chimney still to sweep

But then its a birthday, its a first day of school, its Christmas, its Three Kings, its St Martins ~who?, its last day of school, its the third Thursday in a month, its essential for doing Biology homework. Nevermind Biology homework, when in the name of all things name-able did Psychology become a subject for thirteen year-olds. I am being out-manouvred by a kid. I am feeling guilty and soon I will be regretting my weakness, as I have thrash metal surround sound. The neighbours can share in the musical spectacular, we are generous. They appear to appreciate music as they bang on our front door like a drum machine, if somewhat out of sync. But their musical beat contribution must wait to be unappreciated, until there is a break in the death-thrash-bomb-the-bass-beat, a lull for me to realise there may be soon a heated debate over Rock'n' Roll is Noise pollution, and call me a shamen but I did not need a crystal ball for deciding the agenda of communication with my reddening neighbour and his red-faced home-owner ~ me. All because schooling has shifted to a new curriculum that is introducing blackmail as a career choice under another name ~psychology.

But wait, at least, he ~ my teenager ~ has done his Biology homework. Hurrah. Except I have been pushed aside.....my time had come to step up to the plate.... the time to take things seriously and avoid the grandchildren for a decade or so. But wait another cotton picking minute......

My duties in teaching the birds and the bees has been usurped by a clinical, factual lesson on sexual education that may have saved my blushing cheeks. But wait a flippin'-hell-freezes-over moment, my cheeks are not ready for this traffic light like changing colouring, I am blushing. My boy is now an expert and on a mission of discovery. I fear theory is about to enter practicals. But first there is a few things he'd like to double-check and ....by damn....

His theoretical knowledge has now lent a certain gravitas to the teenager question time, that follows as sure as night follows day. I was now a victim of trial by teenager and my innocence was a handicap. The late, later, latest hours of the evening television programming ad-breaks now dedicated to the Grand Teenquisitor of "did I do's", "why was'", "didn't you's", "no really, but's" ....damn it, this is supposed to be about third party birds and bees, not me. This never happens with maths homework, and can we talk about bi-nomial theorems rather than the why's and wherefore's of bi's. I want my life to be back to normal and it starts with getting my nomial back.

This is an ambush of adult deviance that I hardly new existed, but I feel I should. My boy knows more than me. I feel I have missed out and I do not know if you should ask your mother if a bisexual has his and hers condoms.

This is re-writing Evolution theory as Survival of the Fetishest. And no your pocket money is not going to be increased for "necessities". Grandpa!....I may be being blackmailed again.